


Killing For The One You Love

by 99musicalsherlocks



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:26:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99musicalsherlocks/pseuds/99musicalsherlocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty kidnaps John and Sherlock realizes his true feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing For The One You Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sovrwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sovrwolf/gifts).



> This is a oneshot.  
> please try to enjoy ;)  
> and leave a comment or something i'd really appreciate it :)  
> hope you like it xxx

They were stood one in front of the other. John was tied to a chair his arms forced behind him, his clothes bloody and bedraggled. Moriarty had a gun aimed at his head. Behind Moriarty was Sherlock pointing a gun at the back of Moriarty’s head holding the tip inches away from his shiny pushed back hair.  
“Put the gun down Moriarty and no one gets hurt.” Said Sherlock in a hushed voice that echoed around the empty, gray room.  
“What would be the fun in that Sherlock?” Moriarty sneered loading the shiny black gun in his hand and pressing it harder to Johns head making him wince.

6 HOURS AGO

John was sat in his chair facing Sherlock. He couldn't help but watch Sherlock as he read his book on astronomy that John had brought for him because according to Sherlock the solar system was irrelevant. His dark hair curling around his ears and neck, his piercing blue eyes were bored but still concentrating on the book.  
“You’re staring” he said smirking but not looking up.  
“Sorry” John mumbled shyly getting up. “Do you want tea?”  
“Yes” Sherlock replied not bothering with politeness. Sherlock was bored with the astronomy book. Who cared about how the stars where aligned or how far the earth was from the sun but he kept reading because he didn't want to disappoint John.  
As John made the tea he couldn't help but sneak looks at Sherlock, about 3 months ago John had realized he was attracted to Sherlock and ever since he had fallen for him more and more as the days went by. Everything about him became beautiful, the way he deduced, the way he’d get happy about homicide, even when Sherlock was in one of his moods. The funny thing was that even though Sherlock had the greatest mind known to man he still hadn't deduced john’s feeling for him. Sherlock was oblivious.  
“I’m going for a walk, to err clear my mind so I can errm makes some room for this” Said Sherlock holding up the astronomy book. In all honesty it was the only excuse he could think of to get away from that terrible book, he was dying of boredom already and that stupid book was just making it worse.  
“Do you want me to come with you?” John asked curiously.  
“No. I’ll be fine by myself. It’s not as if anyone is going to kidnap me, is it?” Sherlock said getting a chuckle from John.

***  
When Sherlock returned several hours later, it had been a long walk, the flat was silent. Mrs. Hudson had gone away for the weekend but surely john would be making a slight bit of noise. Sherlock had very sensitive hearing but he heard nothing not even a shuffle. He walked up the stairs slowly noticing black scuff marks from expensive shoes, they weren't his because they were to big and they weren't Johns still to big and John wore a different type of shoe. Sherlock sped up his walk and found his flat in tatters.  
The table had been flipped and pieces of paper work and books were everywhere. There had been a struggle. Johns chair had been knocked onto its back. His skull had been thrown against the wall and several teeth were missing as it lay on the floor looking fed-up. His long drapes had been twisted and half pulled down. The street light cast an eerie glow over the sitting room. Everything in the room was shredded or ruined except for his chair. It sat untouched in the middle of a sea of chaos.

Sherlock walked over to it and inspected it. It had been untouched not one bit of fabric out of place. The only difference was instead of it being empty on it sat a note held down by a red apple. IOU was carved into the apple. Only one person could’ve left this. Moriarty.  
The note read: 

My dearest Sherlock if you want to save your little boyfriend come and find me and we can chat.  
Good Luck.  
Moriarty  
P.s alerts the police and John will die...slowly and painfully.

Sherlock swore and threw the blood red apple at the wall, watching it splatter with the sheer force.  
“He was supposed to be gone! Moriarty wasn't supposed to come back!” Sherlock shouted his voice full of anger.  
“And now, now he has John. My only friend, the only Fucking person I've ever loved!” He yelled. Stopping as he realized what he said. He realized how true it was. Sherlock was in love with John, he had always been in love with John and now he was gone. 

Sherlock turned the note over to find a photograph; it was an old abandoned warehouse. He recognized it. He always recognized anything that was built in London. Entering his mind palace he located the warehouse quickly. It would take him two hours at least to get there. He grabbed his gun and ran from the flat hollering a cab as soon as his foot was out of the door. He paid the cabbie double to go as quickly as possible and told him he’d pay for any speeding tickets.  
“Don’t worry about your job I can get you one that pays exactly 14 times more than this one currently does” Sherlock said hurrying the cab driver along.  
***  
John woke up with a thudding in his head, he groaned as he tried to move. He was tied to a chair his hands forced behind his back something warm and sticky was trickling down his head slowly before dripping onto his collar. He looked down to see a big, red uneven spot on his shirt starting from his collar. His head was bleeding and he couldn't even wipe it. The room was dark and dingy with only a small amount of light coming through the broken windows. The chair he was sat on had been placed directly in the spot of light coming through the window. It must’ve been moonlight because it had a white glow to it. The only thing John could remember was reading the newspaper then hearing a loud crash before being hit hard in the head with something big. 

“And finally he wakes up” said a strong Irish accent. One John new well and would never forget.  
“You were out for 3 hours; maybe my guys hit you a little too hard. Poor John couldn't take it” he said mockingly enjoying the sight of John in pain. John said nothing, he couldn't. His head was hurting and he was in so much shock that he couldn't physically speak. Sherlock had told him Moriarty was gone and he had trusted him.  
“Don’t worry he’ll find you, and then we can finish what we started” Moriarty said looking at John with a smirk plastered on his face. Pulling out a gun from beneath his expensive black suit he walked over to John.  
“Should I make you suffer some more before you boyfriend gets here?” he said raising the gun, pointing it at his shoulder.  
“Here?" he asked "No. maybe here?” he said bringing it down to aim at his knee.  
“Or maybe I should just shoot you right here and get it over with” he said bringing the gun up and pressing it against John’s forehead.  
“Maybe you should go and fuck yourself.” John hissed at Moriarty with hatred.

***  
Sherlock made his way into the dusty, crumbling warehouse. The walls were thick with grime and mold. There was a strong odor of rusty nails and damp, it made Sherlock nose sting. The ceilings were high; a lot of them had huge gaping holes in. He managed to find an old stair case and stood at the bottom listening for any signs. There was nothing and then he heard it, a distant but unmistakable voice. It made a shiver go down his spine. He made his way up the stairs and peered down every corridor following that strong Irish accent.  
“Should I make you suffer...” he heard him say and started running lightly towards the sound. He stopped before he entered the big empty room, peering around the door to see a gun aimed right at John’s head.

“Put the gun down Moriarty and no one gets hurt.” Sherlock said in a hushed voice that echoed around the empty, gray room.  
“What would be the fun in that Sherlock?” Moriarty sneered loading the shiny black gun and pressing it harder against Johns head watching him wince in pain.  
Turning around and facing Sherlock he moved the gun and pointed it towards his chest.  
“I brought you here because I want to finish what I started…you.” Moriarty spoke with confidence taking a step away from John his black leather shoes scraping across the floor and standing opposite Sherlock. Sherlock didn't look at John because he didn't need to. From the corner of his eye he could see that John had managed to get himself free of the ruff fraying ropes, he had been in the army after all, but was pretending he was still tied up until the moment was right.  
“Why are you doing this?” Sherlock asked curiosity getting the better of him.  
“Why not? Boredom I suppose. You of all people know what that’s like.” He said lowering the gun. That was a mistake he’d realizes later.  
“We’re more alike than you think Sherlock. You and I could be a great team and yet you still continue to favor the side of the angels. Yet you are not an angel yourself, are you Sherlock? You could be something great and yet you choose to be a consulting detective…so much potential and you waste it on helping pathetic ordinary people. In years to come people will not remember you? They will not care about what you did in the slightest Sherlock. They will not care about the lives you saved or the families you helped. You say you’re cold but in reality you care too much. Where as me on the other hand, they will remember. Moriarty, the man who was never caught and never ever defeated!” he bellowed his voice echoing around the room. 

“WE ARE NOTHING ALIKE! YOU AND I WILL NEVER EVER BE A TEAM AND YOU WERE STUPID TO THINK I CARE BECAUSE IF I CARE I WOULDN'T BE DOING THIS!” Sherlock shouted just before pulling the trigger the bullet flew through the air hitting Moriarty in the chest, penetrating his heart and exiting out through his back.  
“YOU WERE STUPID TO THINK YOU’D EVER WON!” He shouted watching Moriarty writhe in pain on the floor, blood turning his pearly white shirt a dark red. Moriarty pulled the gun up, in a feeble attempt to shoot Sherlock but John was already there kicking the gun out of his grasp and across the room. Moriarty watched his gun hit the wall and spin landing on the floor with a loud clatter. As Moriarty breathed his ragged last breath in Sherlock stood over him and whispered “You were a psychopath and psychopaths are never remembered, sociopaths on the other hand well who knows?” Sherlock turned his coat flowing out behind him and John followed quickly.  
***  
It was a lucky thing that Sherlock had a very faithful brother who was very powerful. Sherlock was in the clear, the death of Moriarty had been made into a suicide, Sherlock was now indebted to his brother and new one day he would have to repay him but for now he had someone more important to deal with. John.  
***  
They had both returned home at early hours in the morning. John took his coat off and Sherlock watched him as he hung it on the coat stand.  
“Let me clean your head up” Sherlock said looking at the bloody trickle that had dried to John’s forehead. He got the green first aid box from the kitchen and wet a smooth flannel. John was sat on the sofa when Sherlock came back and sat with him. Carefully he wiped the dried blood of Johns face. Even after everything that had happened tonight John was still in love with Sherlock. Staring into his clouded blue eyes he pulled Sherlock’s hand away from his forehead. He wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s neck and pulled his head down to his height. Sherlock didn't object to any of this he followed Johns lead until both of their lips collided and everything felt better again. Sherlock’s tongue entangled with John’s and they kissed harder and faster. Standing up but still kissing they stumbled through the flat undressing each other. Throwing there clothes on the floor and crashing against things as they were both to busy to look where they were going. Finally Sherlock pushed his bedroom door open with his foot and stumbled backwards before landing on his bed. John landed softly on top of him running his hands over Sherlock’s body.  
They both became lost under Sherlock’s blankets tumbling around their bodies colliding over and over again. Neither of them got any of sleep that night but they didn't seem to need it.


End file.
